These Days

I haven't written in so long. I don't know why. I think maybe it's because I'm slowly losing the extremely tenuous hold I once had the knowledge of who I am, why I'm here, and where I'm headed. Or it could be something else.

Not much is new with me, in case you were wondering. I've been living with my parents for the last 5 years and in a few more years, I will become a full-fledged spinster. Once I reach full spinsterhood, I plan to buy a bicycle with a basket and ride around town with my small dog pretending not to notice the nakedly judgmental stares of the people I ride past. I will sit in the shadows and yell at schoolchildren when they dare each other to run up on my porch. That is, if I have a porch, which let's face it, I probably won't. Even with slightly encouraging trends in current mortgage interest rates, home ownership is still out of my grasp. No, chances are in a few years I'll still be living with mom and dad, and since we don't have a porch, I'll have to yell at schoolchildren from the roof. They probably won't hear me yelling, so I'll have to resort to throwing water balloons. But hey, in this economy, you gotta do what you gotta do.

Last week I went to the dentist for the first time in six years. I went to the same dentist I've always gone to, the only dentist I've ever gone to. When I got to the office, the receptionist started questioning me about my living situation. She looked at the computer screen, then back at me, then back at the computer screen. "There's a note here that says we're supposed to start a new file for you since you're on your own insurance now." Long pause. "But, you still live at the Nepessing address?" I nodded. "And your parents still live there too?" She looked at me with a mixture of sympathy and pity.

"Yes, I live with my parents." I felt the overwhelming urge to explain why I still live with them, but I thought it would be weird if I started telling the receptionist at the dentist's office that I'm afraid to move away because I'm convinced that if I do my parents will die and/or I will end up living in a hovel eating ramen noodles I cooked in a microwave that's balanced on a milk crate.

So I let it go. The truth is, people don't care if I live with my parents. And if people ask me if I'm married or if I have kids, they don't care what I say. They probably don't even listen to my answer. They're just being polite. But I still retain the right to hate them for asking. 

In the immortal words of Sam Cooke, a change is gonna come. I can feel it. Soon I'll move out and when I'm old, I'll be grateful I got to spend so much time with my parents these last five years. So I guess it's worth all the insecurity that comes with being thirty and living with mom and dad. Yeah, it's definitely worth it.